


I'm Home

by Vanyel



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Horror games make best plots, heheheheh, yes i played this game, yes i was sniper, yes it was the best thing ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyel/pseuds/Vanyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper does, in fact, have a house that's not on wheels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Home

“Ey, yo, Snipes!” Scout jogged up to the edge of the base towards Sniper, who was sitting on the edge drinking with Demo and Soldier. He tipped his hat back, panting a bit. “Hey, so, uh, I’ve been wonderin’ for a while…Where exactly do ya go every night after the battle? I see ya drive off in that van a yours.”

Sniper snorted softly, setting his beer down. “I go home, mate.”

The runner shook his head. “Nah, I mean, I know you live in that campah, so ya call it your home, but like, where do you go in ya home?” The other two mercenaries looked at him curiously, their own interests piqued.

Sighing, Sniper scratched the back of his neck, and stood slowly. “How many times do I have to tell you bleedin’ idiots, I don’t live in the damn van anymore! I mean I actually go home, to a place with a roof and a proper bed an all.”

“Wait, you mean you got like a real house, somewhere off base?” At the answering nod of Sniper’s head, a huge grin broke out across Scout’s face. “Aw man, that’s amazing! Ya gotta bring me over sometime, I wanna see what kinda crib ya got!”

Soldier gave an emphatic grunt, smashing his empty beer bottle against the side of his head as he stood and pulled Demo to his feet. “Indeed! Now that I am aware of the existence of your off-base living quarters, a group visit to your house needs to happen, maggot! I am obligated to inspect these current living conditions of yours in order to ensure they are up to current military standards! I will not have one of my men wallowing in unAmerican squalor!” Demo raised his scrumpy bottle, grinning in agreement.

Looking at the three eager faces, Sniper sighed again, raising his hands in defeat. “Sure, mates, why not? I ‘spose a couple of you could come over tonight, long as nobody tells anybody. Don’t want Spy finding out about it an’ trying to come over an’ bug the place; it’s the one place I get to be free of that spook.”

“Man, Snipes, you are, like, da best, you know that?” Scout chuckled, running off to go grab his things. Soldier saluted, and Demo smiled at him, the two of them walking after the runner. Finally alone, Sniper smiled to himself. “Perfect timing, mates,” he whispered. “It was gettin’ a little restless back there.”

* * *

The van pulled to a slow stop in front of an old, dilapidated mansion, the ground floor windows broken and the faded paint peeling away from the wood. Nearly every foot of the walls seemed to be covered in some kind of creeping ivy. Sniper set the parking brake. “This is the place, mates,” he chuckled as the small party clambered out of the vehicle with varying levels of enthusiasm. “You all kept laughing at me for livin’ in the van, so I found the first place nearby that weren’t already inhabited, and it was this lovely house. Pretty sweet, huh?”

Soldier tipped his helmet back, scowling a bit at the sight. “I refuse to believe that you live in a place like this, maggot! It does not even LOOK like it smells like hippies!” Sniper just rolled his eyes, led them up the winding stone path and fiddled with his keys, Scout bounding up beside him and jabbering on about some old mansions he’d seen back home in Boston. Finally, he got the door open, swinging it wide.

The whole place seemed covered in leaves or plants of one kind or another. The mercenaries had to clamber over a small tree-looking thing just to get through the hallway. Scout scowled, kicking at it idly, and Sniper immediately turned on him with a snarl. “Careful! These things are bloody delicate, and I ain’t spent months keeping them alive and healthy for you to stumble into my house and ruin everything! That’s the only Indian Bonsai bark this side of the Rockies, I guarantee ya!” He kneeled next to the plant, checking over it with a worried expression.

Demo hiccupped softly, chuckling. “Ya seem to know a lot about all these here plants, laddeh. Wouldn’t have taken ye fer a botanist, but who am I tae judge?”

Sniper chuckled softly to himself, running one hand gently over the fragile leaves. “Spook may not mean it that way, but he’s not so far off with the whole ‘bushman’ thing. When ya spend as much time as I have out in the bushes,” he crooned, “ya start to be able to tell one kind from another, mate. Plants are nice. They don’t talk over yah, they don’t steal from yah or stab you in the back. They’re good company.”

The other three mercenaries looked at one another. Soldier mumbled something about “tree-hugging, van-dwelling hippies”. Scout let out a loud, badly disguised cough behind his hand. “YERCRAZY!”

The marksman’s head snapped up. “I’m not bloody crazy!” he snarled, a look of sudden anger on his face so strong that Soldier took a step back away from him. The rage disappeared as rapidly and mysteriously as it had appeared, and Sniper stood, giving the tiny tree one more pat before turning to face the startled group with an oddly broad grin. “I think I’ve got some old pie in the fridge. Come on, kitchen’s just through here!” He jogged through one of the open doorways, and after a tense moment of hesitation, Scout shrugged and followed him, the other two mercenaries trailing behind. What was a little plant-centric craziness between trained killers when there was pie to have?

* * *

Sniper set the final slice of warmed pumpkin pie down in front of Scout, who barely stopped long enough to thank him before he dug in with his usual ravenous attitude. Soldier, who had refused to eat any pie that was not “Good Old American Apple Pie, the only true kind of pie”, continued tossing around a crystal orb the size of his head that had been rolling around on the floor with a stupid grin on his face. He was convinced it had to be magical in some way, declaring himself an expert on all things mystical because of his wizard roommate, and was determined to get it to work. Demo leaned back in the chair, patting his stomach and sighing to himself. “That was some fine good cooking, boyo,” he grinned at the marksman, taking another swig from the bottle of scrumpy that was forever in his hand. Raising his head, the bomber looked over at the corner of the kitchen, pointing with the end of the bottle at something. “Now, you’re the big bush-knowing man, ennit? What’s that spiky lil number right there?”

The marksman looked back over his shoulder, eyes lighting up behind his aviators at the sight of the spines poking over the corners of the half-folded leaves. “That right there is a Venus flytrap, mate,” he grinned, walking over and picking up the small pot to set it in the center of the table. “One of my favorites. It’s carnivorous, mainly likes flies; ‘s got a tiny sugar lining on the upper rim that attracts them with the smell, and once it touches two of the little hairs within a few seconds…”

A fly buzzed through the room, and Sniper quieted, watching as it circled the still-eating Scout before landing hesitantly on the inside of one of the flytrap’s leaves. It walked along the edge for a moment, poking at the rim idly, then prepared its wings to take off again, taking one final step-

The instant the fly’s leg brushed against the second trigger hair, the leaf snapped shut, the long hard spines trapping the suddenly struggling fly between the sides of the leaf, slowly crushing the life out of it. A slow, cruel smile spread across Sniper’s face. “One of nature’s greatest little hunters,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the sight of Soldier and Demo’s matching astonishment, the ball falling from Soldier’s hand and rolling onto the table to clink softly against the side of the Venus flytrap’s pot. “It’ll digest that poor blighter over the next couple of days, and use the nutrients to make up for a deficiency in the soil. Developed in swamps where that was the best available source of protein.” His eyes took on an almost glassy look. “It’s not the only plant that eats meat, neither. There’s a kind of pitcher plant, got a slippery rim lined with sugar right above what functions as a stomach full of digestive acid, and anything that falls in ain’t coming back out alive.” One gloved hand patted the closet leaf with obvious care and affection. “Even in the harshest environments, natural always finds a way to let the predators survive and survive, whether man or beast or plant. Everything finds a home.”

“That reminds me, there’s something I wanted to show you,” Sniper said, breaking out of his daze and smiling at them. He gestured out into the hallway towards the giant staircase. Scout tried running out of the room eagerly, but ended up just tripping over one of the many leaf-covered vines, and he swore loudly. He was sure there’d been nothing that big across the entrance to the kitchen back when they’d entered. Sniper followed, shaking his head at the boy, and led the three other mercenaries down, down, down the spiraling staircase into the basement. He wound and wove them through the maze of below-ground hallways choked in greenery so thick one could barely walk without trodding on something, and finally came upon a closed wooden door. Smiling, he backed up, then shoved his shoulder against the door, and it creaked on its hinges for a second before finally giving way, Demo quickly catching Sniper’s arm to keep him from falling over.

* * *

The room was dark, and smelled of dirt and decay masked by a faintly floral scent. The mercenaries stepped inside, feeling the greenery grow thicker underneath their feet, and Sniper opened his arms, turning to face the other men. “Welcome to the heart of the house, mates.” Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light filled the room, making Scout cry out and cover his eyes. It died down, but a steady glow continued to shine from behind Sniper, illuminating the room.

It was clearly alive, the vines on it twisting and waving as if moved by some unseen wind, swaying gently. Whatever that pulsing green mass of plant matter resembled to each of the mercs- the aforementioned heart or a floral bomb or just a giant ball of leaves and vines- it was covered in fluorescent buds resembling human eyes whose “irises” glowed with an eerie blue light, casting the Sniper in a grim silhouette as he spread his arms wide, grinning. “Ain’t she a beauty?” he whispered

The other mercenaries looked at one another, slowly backing away from the center of the room, and those strange eyes on the leaves seemed to follow their movements. Soldier coughed softly and rubbed one hand over the crystal ball, and the noise snapped Sniper out of his apparent botanic reverie. He shifted subtly, now placing himself between them and the lone door leading back to the stairs out of the basement. “See, plants are amazing things,” he continued, his voice falling into a darker place than normal. “They’re alive, just like we are. They need to be tended to and taken care of, just like we do. They need to feed, just like we do.” He slowly reached for his belt, unclipping his kukri and flipping it around in his hand almost idly. “Back in the bushlands, a few of my old buddies and I would help each other out by driving prey towards one another when someone was having a hard time.” Sniper’s aviators slipped off his face and clattered onto the wood floor with a harsh sound, and the mad gleam in his eye made Scout flinch back with a soft whimper. “That’s what me an’ the plants are doing here. Helpin’ one another out.”

He gave a weak chuckle, shaking his head. “As a matter of fact, I was living in that van when I first started working here, and I was sick an’ tired of you guys constantly making fun of me for it. So I went driving, lookin’ for a place, an’ outta nowhere this house just appears. It was perfect. It IS perfect. And the plants, they whisper to me. They understand what it’s like to be mocked, and they gave me a home, and told me how I can share this perfection with them.” One hand danced lovingly along the blade. “Feed them. That’s all they want from me. Feed them my so-called friends, and I can stay here, and have a home for once.”

“S-snipes, man,” Scout stuttered weakly, “th-th-this ain’t funny anymore man, put the knife down.” Soldier nodded in agreement, clutching the odd artifact a little tighter.

The marksman gave a toothy grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they use every last little bit of ya, won’t let anything go to waste. Not like there’s much on your skinny arse, anyways.” From the great mass of leaves and spines behind him, a set of the ubiquitous vines began to move across the walls like some sort of creature, stretching out towards the frightened mercenaries. One tendril leaned out to gently caress Sniper’s cheek, and his grinned widened. “Don’t worry, child,” he whispered to the vine, “I brought you some nice meat.”

With a hoarse cry, Sniper leaped across the room, swinging his kukri wildly and managing to catch Demo on the edge of his shoulder, causing the bomber to scuttle out of the room, diving through the hallways in the basement desperately, pursued by the mad Sniper. Scout bolted towards the back exit of his room to try to find another way upstairs.

* * *

Soldier ran out of the room up the stairs and back into the hallway, screaming, “MERASMUS WHERE ARE YOU? YOU ARE ALWAYS NEARBY TRYING TO KILL US! SNIPER IS MAKING PLANTS LIVE AND TRY TO EAT US AND WE NEED YOUR HELP!” Gripping the crystal ball tightly, Soldier shifted his helmet backwards to look deeply into it. “All right, Merasmus always used you stupid magical things, show me how to stop the crazy Australian from turning us into mercenary mulch!” A vine twined lazily around his ankle, but he quickly kicked it off with a soft grunt. He stared deeper, as if he began to see a glimmer of something-

An eye of fire slowly opened and glared at Soldier from within the crystal, and a deep growling came from the ball, which began to heat up in his hands and gave off a sulfuric, charred smell. It was as if hell itself was staring back at him.

With a pained-sounding scream, Soldier reared back and brought his head down, headbutting and smashing his face into the crystal ball with a glassy-eyed determination. The magical artifact shattered, shards stabbing into all areas of his face and burrowing through his eyes. Soldier’s hands fell to his sides, and he slumped over, slowly teetering on his feet before tipping over backwards and thudding onto the floor, his helmet clunking off and rolling through the doorway into the kitchen before stopping at the foot of the fridge.

The vine from earlier returned, joined by its brethren, and they slid over the limp, unresisting body. One particularly thick vine slipped around his throat, tightening and tightening until the crack of Soldier’s thick neck breaking echoed through the room. Just a precaution. It pulled back, allowing the other vines begin the more difficult task of undressing the corpse, pulling it down the staircase into the darkness, one more vine pausing to pull the wooden door shut behind it.

* * *

Scout screamed as he stopped in the doorway leading out from the dining room, seeing the Soldier’s helmet discarded on the kitchen floor. He ran in and snapped it up, holding it in a shaking hand as the blood stained on the inside became visible. “Solly? Aw man, no, not you, not you too, what the hell is going on? Sniper, you there? Please, I-I promise, I’ll leave, I’ll leave right now, an-an’ I’ll never tell anyone, I’ll even send some of the other team your way so your freaky plants have some food, just please, please, lemme go!”

A noise behind him, and Scout jumped, turning to see the roiling mass of vines in the dining room beginning to wind their way into the kitchen, knocking everything off the counters in its haste. “No no no no YOU’RE NOT GONNA GET ME!” He dropped the helmet back onto the floor, bolting out through the doorway. The vines, somehow sensing their prey attempting to escape, surged forward with an unexpected speed, but Scout was faster. He skidded across the hallway, turning on his heel towards the front door, which hung tantalizingly open on one hinge. Scout bolted forward, reaching out one hand, a crazy, relieved grin spreading across his fa-

A vine from the game room snaked out like a whip, wrapping itself tightly around the runner’s ankle and yanking hard. He hung in the air for a moment, still smiling, before the ground rushed to meet him with a sickening thud. Scout looked up, fingers scrabbling against the cracked wooden floorboards and screaming. “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!”

The vines swarmed over him from all sides, pinning his arms and legs to the floor and slowly, inexorably dragging him backwards into the old house. Scout would have sworn that he could hear Sniper’s deep, deranged chuckle echoing through the house from somewhere below, over the sound of his own cries for mercy. A slim tendril of vine slipped up in front of him, pulling the door closed, and the click of the lock snuffed out the last tiny spark of hope within Scout. He continued to scream until the vine from the door slithered over the floor and plunged into his mouth, shoving itself as deep into his throat as it could go, the very tip poking into his lungs. His eyes widened as his struggles slowed, muscles begging for oxygen. The last things Scout knew through the suffocation haze were the tapping sounds of a pair of well-worn shoes on the wood, and the shaky sight of Sniper’s khakis passing in front of him towards the basement before he mercifully slipped away into the blackness he’d come to know between Respawns. Except this time, he didn’t come back.

* * *

Cornered in the wine cellar, Demo stared back at the mad-eyed marksman, leaning heavily against the endless rows of wine bottles stacked against the wall. His hand pressed against one of his countless knife wounds, futilely attempting to stem the flow of blood already soaked through his shirt. Sniper raised his bloodied kukri with a maniacal grin. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make good fertilizer, mate,” he growled, preparing the final blow.

Desperately, Demo threw out his hands. “Wait! One last request!” Sniper barely checked his swing, eyeing him suspiciously. The bomber shakily reached down, picking up his fallen bottle of scrumpy, and held it neck-first towards Sniper. “With…with this, laddeh. Do it with this, please…Ma always said it would be the death of me, and…I’d like her ta be right for this.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Sniper took the alcohol, wrapping his fingers around it like a club, as Demo himself had done many a time before. “Ya last request, and all ya do is choose the method to make your mama proud?” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I think I can accommodate ya there, mate. You always were a good pal. I’ll make sure only the good plants get ta grow from you.” Leaning back, he raised the bottle high again, and Demo close his eye, turning his face towards the ceiling in acceptance of his fate.

“Scrumpeh, take meh!”

The bottle came down hard, crashing into the side of the Demoman’s head with a shattering sound. He slumped to the floor, falling among the shards of brown glass from the now-broken scrumpy bottle. Sniper stood over the body, panting softly as he watched the blood begin to ooze from the side of of Demo’s head. The bottle neck slipped from his fingers, and he waved his hand. The vines that had slowly begun to creep across the cellar walls now shifted, moving to wrap around the limp corpse and lift it back to a standing position.

Stepping forward, Sniper laid his hand on his old friend’s cheek, slowly sliding his fingers up and under the eyepatch. He pulled it away, tucking it into his pocket. “Thank you for going so quietly, mate,” he whispered, turning away and running one gloved hand lovingly across the closest vine to him as the plants began to methodically strip their meal of the offending cloths keeping them from it, like a greedy child ripping the wrapper off a long-desired candy bar. “You will be a sweet treat for my children. All of you will, and when my little plants grow up big and strong I will know they are killers, just like us.”

“We’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a round of Betrayal at House on the Hill I played with my friends. So much fun.


End file.
